


Flannel and Hope

by thesassywallflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesassywallflower/pseuds/thesassywallflower
Summary: Eileen mulls over her time in hell and finds a bit comfort among Sam's belongings. This takes place immediately after the events of Golden Time (15x6).
Relationships: Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Flannel and Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I just wanted to write something for these two precious cinnamon rolls. Hope you enjoy!  
P.S. This has not been beta-ed so all grammatical/spelling errors and wanton common abuse are all mine.

With a soft smile, Sam closed his bedroom door behind him leaving Eileen alone. “You need to rest,” he said, tenderly brushing a few damp strands of hair off her cheek. The brief touch left sparks in its wake and Eileen found herself leaning into his hand. “I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit. Help yourself to anything in the dresser.”

Turning around, she wandered over to the dresser and opened a drawer. A small grin crept over his face. The entire thing was filled with flannels in every type of plaid you could imagine. Of course, what else should she have expected? Flannels were practically the Winchesters’ official uniform. Still clutching the towel wrapped around her, she pulled out a russet orange and navy blue checkered shirt. She hesitated for a moment, but then buried her face in the soft worn material, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and that elusive scent that could only be described as _“Sam”_, cedar, old books and the barest hint of gunpowder.

This.

This is what she missed most while trapped in Hell.

Not the freedom from torture.

Not the warmth of the sun on her face.

Not being able to breathe air that didn’t burn her lungs to ash with every breath.

It was this simple piece of fabric and Sam's arms around her.

Every second that she wasn’t being tortured, she’s dreamed of those two things. Throughout the century she spent in Hell, though it had been only three years on Earth since she’d died, she’d never once forgotten what felt like to be held by Sam. To feel his hard chest against her cheek. To have his strong arms pull her tight against his body, his entire frame curving around her protectively... To her, those flannel covered arms were home. Not Ireland, not her foster mother’s house, and certainly not the multitude of crappy apartments she’d rented as she traveled from town to town on jobs. None of those places matched the feeling of belonging she experienced wrapped in Sam Winchester's embrace. 

An unexpected sob caught in her throat. She’d never forgotten him, but she had almost succumbed to the loss of hope that she would ever get to come home again. Which shouldn’t have surprised her. Hell’s specialty was wearing down any hope you had of escaping bit by tiny bit until there wasn’t so much as a shred left. It was one of the worst sorts of torture because without hope what did you have left to live for? To fight for? To keep holding on with every molecule in your being?

But losing hope wasn't the only way they'd tried to break her spirit, the worst torture was one that she never, not in her worst nightmares, imagined they’d use... 

In Hell, her hearing came back. 

At first glance that seemed like an odd choice to give a deaf girl back her hearing. It wasn't particularly insidious, and it was the sort of thing you would expect to be given in heaven, not hell. For a split second, she’d been ecstatic when she realized that she could hear, but that excitement had been instantaneously replaced by utter horror. When you imagine what it would be like to hear, you dream about what a meadowlark, or music, or-or a special someone's voice might sound like. None of those things are what she heard.

Instead of birdsong, what filled her ears were wails of excruciating pain as flesh was ripped open over and over. 

Instead of jazz and Vivaldi, she’d gotten whimpering shrieks as bones were snapped in half.

Instead...instead of the deep rumble of her love’s voice, she heard straggled screams as throats were closed off with molten iron.

It had been the most vile form of abuse they'd thrown at her. She’d spent years curled up on the filthy slime covered floor of her cell praying to every deity that she could think of to take away her hearing. When The Gate collapsed, and she found herself back on Earth, it had been a godsend to be deaf again. But she knew without a doubt the memory of those agonized cries would haunt her forever...

Finally loosening her death grip on her towel, Eileen let it drop to the floor and slid her arms through the sleeves of the shirt. She quickly fastened the buttons, a quiet snort of laughter disrupting her dark thoughts as she realized that the hem of shirt nearly hit her knees. That man was literally all arms and legs. 

Glancing around the room, she realized now was her chance to get a glimpse of Sam’s inner workings. A person’s bedroom was always a window into their personality. Stepping over to the desk, she peered down at the collection of items on its surface. A picture of two grinning young boys, one with sandy blonde hair and the other with chestnut brown, each holding a silvery rainbow trout up for the camera sat on the upper corner. Just below the photo was an ancient tome covered in cracked maroon leather, the spine covered in mysterious stains and the title _"Magicks Most Arcane"_ embossed into its cover. Also strewn across the desk were newspaper clipping, bullets, a cup of cold coffee and protein bar wrappers. She trailed her fingers over the desk chair with a small smile. Yep, this desk was Sam in a nutshell.

A yawn came out of nowhere, her mouth stretching so wide her eyes watered. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she should lie down for a little bit. A few minutes ago, she would've sworn there was no way she'd be able to sleep. That she would stay awake for days just so she could glory in the feeling of simply being alive, but now it was just the opposite. She felt like she could sleep for days. Going back to the dresser she grabbed a pair of thick wool socks, snorting as she pulled them on. Seriously. The heels on these things nearly went halfway up her calf. 

With another jaw cracking yawn, Eileen shuffled over to Sam’s bed and pulled back the covers. Crawling between the sheets, the scent of Sam wafted over her again. A contented smile curved her lips as her head nestled into the pillow. Her body relaxed, and a soothing drowsiness took hold of her. Just as she felt herself drifting off to sleep, a shaft of light made her eyes slit open. The light was quickly extinguished though. Normally, she would be reaching for the knife that she knew without a doubt was tucked between the bed frame and mattress. But not this time. This time she knew she had nothing to fear from the shadowy form moving toward the bed. She felt the bed dip then a pair of strong arms slipped themselves around her. She rolled over and nuzzled her nose into his chest as she wrapped her arms around her love.

Home.

She was finally home.


End file.
